


Muscle to Muscle, Toe to Toe

by murdergatsby



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Feelings Realization, Implied Violence, M/M, Mizumono Alternate Ending, Nobody Dies, Shame, Will wrote the letter and fed his dogs, accepting death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-06-30 07:00:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15746664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murdergatsby/pseuds/murdergatsby
Summary: Hannibal let himself touch on the idea that his inability to destroy Will, as he would anyone else, came from a place of wishing there were reason not to.





	Muscle to Muscle, Toe to Toe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theheartbelieves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheartbelieves/gifts).



> This was written for the marvelous [theheartbelieves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheartbelieves/) who has been supportive of me from what feels like the beginning. <3 I thank them for trusting me with the creation of this piece! And for you all, for reading now.
> 
> I hope you enjoy <3
> 
> Title taken from alt-J's "Breezeblocks."

Will hadn’t left yet, but his home already felt empty. The movements of his feet felt like whispers against his neck- soft breaths that swept up from the base of his spine until they rustled his hair. His dogs were fed; Buster and Max were putting good work into keeping the largest bowl as clean as possible, while the others wandered and sniffed through the muddying earth surrounding the property. The normalcy made Will smile, and crinkle the neatly folded letter in his hand.

Hannibal was in the driveway, leaned easily against the frame of his car. His attention was on Will, unless he felt a nose at his shoe he felt the need to investigate. The way he greeted each canine intrusion with kindness and curiosity also made Will smile, but that was swept away by a stinging volt in his chest.

When he felt he’d had enough, as much as he could, he called his pack back up to his porch and ushered them through the door. Hannibal stayed outside while Will grabbed his things and said his goodbyes. He put his neatly worded note in an envelope and wrote Alana’s name, boldly, on the outside. He knew he wouldn’t be gone long before someone came looking for him; he wasn’t worried about his dogs being left alone or un-cared for. However, _some_ worry still weighed on him like shackle.

_There’s still time._

Will weighed the letter down with a rock, in a location he knew Alana would check when she came for him. He brushed his hand over the top of Winston’s head one last time, before stepping over the threshold of his home and locking the door. He turned to see Hannibal right where he had left him.

“Ready.” Will said.

Hannibal nodded, his smile growing from a default into something true. Will could almost call it _beaming_ , and that made him want to throw up.

_It wasn’t supposed to be like this._

\--

Will sat in the passenger seat of Hannibal’s car and tried to list out the window. He tried to get lost in the shapes of the trees and other cars they passed on their way to the airport; he tried to get lost in anything but his own head, to no avail.

They were just going to slip away, and no one was going to know. Not until they’re gone, anyway- too gone to find again. Hannibal had told him that he wanted to show him Italy, and that’s where they were headed. As the idea crept into his mind- of Hannibal against Byzantine architecture, of the yellows and oranges of the sun resonating from his skin- Will felt himself smiling again.

Guilt’s palm was heavy as it struck his cheek and reminded him of what he was doing. He squirmed and audibly groaned in discomfort.

“Is everything alright, Will?” Hannibal asked, lifting his eyes from the road for just a moment- to lock eyes with Will and feel him out.

Will swiveled his body in Hannibal’s direction, unconsciously shrugging his shoulders as he did. He found himself wanting to take Hannibal’s hand from the gearshift, and thread his fingers into the space between his. The shame of wanting that took the form of a rock in his throat; he understood how wrong that was, but he knew what Hannibal’s touch could do for him- had done for him- in the past. He wanted that kind of comfort. He wanted to hold his _friend’s_ hand, and to have him remind him how okay everything is going to be.

“Yeah.” Will replied, simply. “Everything’s fine.”

\--

Getting through the airport was easy- but, of course it was. No one was looking for them yet. They were just too men on vacation, using names they hardly knew. Regardless, Will continued to twitch with nerves. Hannibal expressed no disdain for continuously cooing him back to a safe headspace, but the more he made the effort the more irritated Will seemed to become.

 _Was this a mistake?_ Will couldn’t seem to shake it. _No._ He’d never felt so sure of anything in his life.

_Except, for asking Matthew Brown to kill Hannibal._

_Except, for wanting to play Hannibal like this; to destroy him like this._

**_Why do these all like the same choice?_ **

Hannibal’s hand came to rest on the top of Will’s thigh, startling him back into reality.

“That’s us.” He said, gesturing to the forming line and attendant checking tickets.

Will nodded like he understood, but his thoughts stayed on the pressure of Hannibal’s hand.

_That’s why._

The realization brought the noise in his head to stunned silence.

 **_That’s_ ** _why_.

The only thing he had ever been this sure of in his life, was Hannibal. For better, for worse; it’s always been Hannibal.

_Fuck._

_And I was going to lose him. I still might lose him._

**_How am I supposed to lose him?_ **

\--

“Hannibal?”

Hannibal’s eyes lifted from his cutting board, taking in Will’s form as he stood in the hallway _._ He was conflicted, but he didn’t want that to show- not yet. He’d been careful to keep himself gentle, cautious, _friendly_ during the entire trip; Hannibal didn’t want Will to know he knew he had been lying, until he was sure he was ready to punish him. Hannibal had been feeling so lost; so suffocated by what he could only imagine calling grief. He had been waiting for the right time to strike- searching for it, trying to create the opportunity, but nothing felt… enough.

_I should have killed him the moment I found out. I should have killed him at dinner, or before he got back in the car. I shouldn’t have boarded the plane with him, and let these feeling- these feelings he forced on me- fester._ _Will Graham is an infection._

“Care to join me?” was all Hannibal said, swiveling his knife block so that the handles pointed in Will’s direction.

Will’s eyes moved to them, but he didn’t reach out.

“Freddie Lounds is still alive.” Will stated, instead. His eyes dodged around the room, but he _wanted_ to make eye contact with Hannibal. Hannibal could feel the effort he was making.

Hannibal remained quiet, mulling over what Will had confessed. He stopped chopping, but didn’t rest his knife. He saw Will’s eyes settle on the knife, and reacted by carefully twisting the grip in his hand. He wondered if Will thought he might throw it. He wanted to throw it, and spear it through Will’s shoulder. It would give Will time to explain while causing an appropriate fraction of the agony _he_ was inflicting on Hannibal.

Hannibal also wondered if Will would beg Hannibal to spare him, but decided that he wouldn’t. Even if he did, Hannibal knew he wouldn’t find any enjoyment in it.

“You lied to me.” Hannibal said, finally.

Will’s mouth fell open with an inward gasp, as if the sound of Hannibal’s voice had shocked him.

“Yes.” He confirmed.

Hannibal wanted to ask why, despite knowing why; he wanted to hear Will say it- to have to explain why a friend would do this to another friend- before having the tongue cut from his mouth. However, to make the word form on his lips felt weak, and Will wasn’t really his friend. All of this had been feigned from the start. It didn’t matter.

“She’s staying at a motel out of state.” Will explained, filling the stiff silence. “And she’s been ordered under protection until…”

“Until?” Hannibal interrupted. His voice had a hushed rumble to it, that he saw moved Will’s skin. Will even flinched as if Hannibal had physically struck him.

“Until Jack and I were _done_.” Will continued, nodding as his own confirmation of the claim.

With a steadying sigh, one that only Hannibal knew he took, Hannibal stepped away from the counter and towards Will. Unlike when he had advanced on Bedelia in his office, Will stayed standing in the same square of space. He let Hannibal close in on him, and fear didn’t grow on his face. Sadness was vibrantly represented, but not fear.

“You lied to me to gain my trust.” Hannibal stated, tone implying request for confirmation. “For Jack Crawford.”

Will nodded. “Killing Randall Tier wasn’t enough. That just made me a killer.”

Even as Will explained, he didn’t shift away from Hannibal. He had time, and plenty of space, to do so. He just didn’t.

“You know plenty of killers.” Will continued. “I had to be something _special_. I had to do something special, for you to let me in.”

 _But you_ **_were_ ** _special._ “You wanted to frame me.” Hannibal scolded.

“To expose you.” Will corrected.

“To take my life from me?”

“No.”

Hannibal watched color rush to Will’s cheeks, and watched tears build up and blur his vision. He watched him try to to blink them away.

“My freedom, then?” Hannibal restated.

Will shook his head, but he didn’t seem convinced.

“Last night-” Hannibal continued. “If we had gone to dinner as planned: How would I be fairing right now?” He asked. His jaw clenched, stressing the tendons in his throat. “How would Jack Crawford?”

Will shook his head again, as if that were an answer. His face read like he knew it wasn’t. His eyes, again, flick to Hannibal’s knife- Hannibal was close enough to touch him now, and Hannibal would have put the knife down if he were done with it.

“You took everything from me.” Will said, the previous tone of caution removed from his voice. “I wanted to take everything from you.”

He was speaking plainly, and was finally able to bring his eyes into Hannibal’s. He pulled a wall up, because wanted Hannibal to know how deeply these words formed. He wanted Hannibal to hear him.

“Everything?” Hannibal repeated.

_You aren’t my everything, Will._

“You had told me what you wanted the most, Hannibal.” Will elaborated. “I gave you my friendship, so I could take it away.”

Suddenly, the tension in the room shifted off of him and into something new; something that made Hannibal feel weightless. Suddenly, the time was right. He could imagine slipping his blade below Will’s ribcage as easy as taking his own breath. He could see himself splitting Will open and letting what was left of him spill to the floor. Will would die there, bleeding out, with no one to find him. He would die so far from home, with a note saying he’d run away- _and don’t look for me._

_But, he did run away. He did tell people not to look for him._

“I’m sorry.” Will said. The statement popped from him, like he had to force it but not like he didn’t mean it.

The apology startled Hannibal, and softened as it settled in his ears. The tension shifted again, weighing Hannibal back down. Will’s apology felt like a weakness; an open wound in Will- something to stick his fingers in and tear open. It made the want to lash out grow- lapping at his edges like fire- but it made his perceived ability to do so dissipate again.

“I don’t want to take this away anymore.” Will continued, taking the time he had been granted to say all that he felt he needed to. “You _are_ my _friend_.”

There was a hook at the end of his words- a drag on the way he said “friend.” He didn’t mean friend, and Hannibal recognized that. However, he wasn’t lying either. _They’re something_ but he didn’t know what else to call it.

Calmly, as always, Hannibal took Will’s cheek up in his palm. Will didn’t jump or pull away, but instead turned his face into the warmth of his touch. He still wasn’t afraid, and there was no way he didn’t understand what Hannibal planned to do to him; he was just at peace with it.

“You got too close.” Hannibal observed.

Will nodded, for the final time. “I do that.”

For a moment, Hannibal let himself touch on the idea that his inability to destroy Will, as he would anyone else, came from a place of wishing there were reason not to. Hannibal put the knife down on the counter behind him, and watched Will’s eyes move to it in confusion. Hannibal smirked, perked up, and pulled Will’s forehead into his lips for a quick kiss.

“Thank you for telling me, Will.”

Hannibal returned to the body of the kitchen, opening a cupboard and looking for something to inspire him.

“That’s it?” He heard, from behind him.

Hannibal turned to see Will still stuck in the same space- now, looking afraid. They both knew Hannibal had killed people for less, _but Will isn’t just people._

“Yes, Will.” Hannibal confirmed. “Please, help me make dinner.”

Slowly, as if pulling himself from tar, Will walked to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. The confusion didn’t leave him.

Hannibal watched him, still feeling the dull ache he’d been feeling since he smelled Freddie on his skin; he still felt broken, but differently. It was manageable. In a few hours, he knew Abigail would be arriving. The idea of Will’s face upon seeing her again, in their new home with their new lives together, felt like it could be the glue he needed to put this all back together again.


End file.
